Dear God of Math,
I have failed you so much.
I have failed you multiplied by 11,291, because
there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t curse your name.
You simple complication of straightforward curves.
The more I know about you the less I trust,
which is something I can believe in.

Dear God of Math,
If a story problem goes out for a walk
and it rains exactly 27 years of his life
what was he trying to solve?

If one star is equivalent to 700,000 twinkles
and each twinkle is a skinkiss whisper
How many does it take place in your back pocket
and float away?

If you take the spirited optimism of one (1) boy
subtracted by the overwhelming ennui
divided by a gallon of oceanpunches,
how many Alaskas does it take to equal regret?

If a vase is released from the hand of your (ex)lover⁶,
and it is flying towards you
at a trajectory equivalent to the arc of an outstretched pinky
at the speed of a natural disaster
how many months will it take
to sweep up the pieces and discard them in the trash?

Dear God of Math:
If you divide a vague narcissism
by a rapidly eroding foundation,
multiplied by brain floods of dumb,
how much will I not write tonight?

How many upsidedowns does it take for a rightsideup?
How many wake ups does it take for one sleep?
How many relapses does it take for one sober?
How many volumes of existence does it take to equal one blown out candle?
How many humans does it take to divide a god?

I need answers immediately, Dear God of Math.
I do not need to show your work.
I just need you to be correct.

Amen.

 

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